The Next Flat Over
by fireweed15
Summary: [Humanized] Few things of note come about by way of moving boxes, but this is never a hard and fast rule.


There was a degree of irony in that the first thing Melissa Taylor did when she got off work, a mail carrier with the United States Postal Service, and arrived at the apartment building she called home was check the mail. It was kind of a nice transition between work and home, being on the other side of the post office box.

She flipped through the mail with idle interest. Phone bill, electric bill, appointment reminder card from the dentist, nothing too out of the—wait. Unless she was well and truly losing her mind, there was no one in her apartment by the name of Daniel Tyler. Closer inspection indicated the address was 2465 West Thirty-Seventh, Apartment 219—the next one over from her own. She couldn't help but get a chuckle out of it; misreading apartment numbers was her gig, after all.

No matter—she was heading up that way anyway. Of course, up to now she had been under the impression that the apartment in question had been vacant, and the mail wasn't addressed to the previous tenant. Hmm… Either the apartment gossips were slipping or she was more lost in her own world than she thought.

She settled on the first one as she climbed the steps to the second floor of the apartment building. May as well drop off their mail before Mr. Tyler's; that thought in mind, she fished her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door to apartment 217.

"Jessica!" she called through the apartment, hanging her hat on a hook by the door. "I'm home!"

A young girl came running out of one of the bedrooms, grinning like she had just won a contest. "Mama!" she squealed, all but throwing herself at the woman.

Melissa returned the grin and knelt, catching the girl with outstretched arms. "Hey, Sissy," she greeted, kissing her cheek. "Did you have a good day at school?"

"Uh-huh!" she replied, nodding her head vigorously. "Miss Lee let me be her helper today." This was spoken as though it was the highest honor that could be bestowed on a young girl of eleven (which, technically speaking for one of the grade's star pupils, it was).

"Did you do a good job?" Melissa asked, running her fingers through her daughter's pale yellow hair.

"I always do a good job, Mama," Jessica replied seriously.

"Good girl," her mother said, standing and handing her the larger of two stacks of mail in her hands. "Can you put these on the counter for me?"

Jessica accepted the mail, making sure to keep it as organized as her mother had it, before pointing to the remaining envelopes in her mother's hand. "Is that junk mail, Mama?"

Melissa looked down at the three envelopes in her hand; honestly, she'd forgotten they were there. "No, this is mail for next door," she explained, indicating the wall to the right, which 217 and 219 shared.

"Someone's movin' in?" Jessica asked, going to set the mail on the counter.

"I guess so," Melissa said with a shrug. "Sissy, I'm going to drop this off next door. I'll be right back." That said, she pocketed her keys once more and stepped out into the hall.

Five steps brought her in front of the door to Apartment 219. Aside from the different number, it looked exactly like her apartment door; the word "nondescript" was generally the word to spring to mind when people looked at them. Descript or not, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

A few moments later, the occupant within opened the door. It was a man, probably a year or so older than she, with dark brown hair, a little long but clean and well-styled; he was wearing a button down shirt and pressed trousers—a little overdressed, Melissa thought, given the first thing she noticed about the apartment behind him was the number of open brown moving boxes, which easily outweighed the amount of visible furniture.

"Daniel Tyler?" Melissa asked. Off-duty or no, she still had a sort of ingrained duty to make sure the mail was delivered to the right person.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied; he had, to Melissa's mild surprise, a light English accent.

"Mail for you," she replied, offering the stray mail.

"Door to door delivery service," he commented with a smile, accepting the envelopes. "Fantastic."

"I wish," Melissa replied with a chuckle. "See, I live over in the next apartment—" she indicated 217—"and some of your mail got mixed in with mine."

"Understandable," he dismissed, tucking the mail under his arm and extended his hand. "Not that you didn't figure it out on your own, but Daniel Tyler."

"Melissa Taylor," she replied, shaking his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Taylor," he said warmly.

"Melissa, please," Melissa gently corrected. Titles had never truly suited her.

"Then by the same token, Daniel," he said with a smile.

"That I can do," Melissa answered, nodding slightly.

"If I may," Daniel began, "and forgive me if I'm imposing, but it seems my living room light is burned out—" He flipped the switch Melissa knew was there, given his apartment layout was the same as her own, a few times to illustrate his point—"and I've yet to get to a store to replace it."

The rest of the request didn't have to be verbalized. "I have a few spares," she answered, waving him toward her apartment. "Come on over and I can give you one."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, stepping out into the hall and pulling the door closed behind him.

"It's no problem," Melissa replied, waving a hand dismissively as she lead him into her apartment. "So what do you do? If I may ask?"

"I'm a professor," he replied, following her a polite distance. "English literature at the university."

"Very nice," Melissa commented, nodding her approval as she stepped into the kitchen. "I guess you can tell what I do for a living." She indicated her USPS uniform with a sheepish smile before opening a cabinet. "Need anything else while you're here?"

"I couldn't take advantage," Daniel answered, watching her open a series of kitchen cabinets.

"No, it's fine—light bulbs, Kleenex, toilet paper?" she pressed, peeking in every cabinet, all without success. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands on her hips and muttering to herself. "Where did I put those things?"

"If you don't have any—" Daniel began, stepping closer.

"No, I know I have spares," Melissa answered, opening a drawer and digging loosely through its contents, mostly pens and notepads, before calling out, "Sissy, where are the lightbulbs?"

From down the hall, a young voice called back, "Pantry!"

"You have a sister?" he asked, watching Melissa pop herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand and step into a pantry.

"Huh?" She poked her head out of the pantry before stepping out once more, a lightbulb in hand. "Oh, Sissy—no." She tore a paper towel off the roll and wrapped the lightbulb with it. "It's short for Jessica. She's my daughter."

"I don't suppose I should be worried about angry husbands coming home soon, should I?" Daniel asked, his teasing showing itself mostly in his voice and a certain type of shine in his eyes.

"Oh, no," Melissa denied, offering him the wrapped item. "It's just us girls."

Before Daniel could reply, the sound of a cell phone, the kind of generic ringtone that came with the phone to begin with, cut into the conversation. The professor looked mildly embarrassed as he fished the ringing cell phone out of his pocket. "Hello?" A pause. "One moment please." He lowered the phone before addressing Melissa. "It's from the college, so I have to run off, I'm afraid." He looked truly regretful at the idea of declining his neighbor's hospitality in favor of a phone call, from his place of work or no.

"No, I understand," Melissa replied, giving him the lightbulb. "If you need anything else, you know where I am."

"Thank you," he said sincerely before stepping out of the apartment to return home.

Melissa tilted her head slightly as he left, before brushing it off as she went to change out of her uniform for the evening. There wasn't much of anything that gave a good glimpse of his personality, but he didn't seem like the crazy, "neighbor from Hell" type, either. Hell, having a neighbor in general was a pleasant change—that apartment had been empty for months now. Melissa decided to chalk it up to a pleasant change and then shifted her attentions to her own apartment, to Jessica and what they were having for dinner that night.


End file.
